


The Rhythm of City Streets

by NinthFeather



Category: Kagerou Project, Mekakucity Actors
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst and Humor, Families of Choice, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Moving On, Past Character Death, Post-Series, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 21:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4580955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinthFeather/pseuds/NinthFeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years after...everything, the Mekakushi-dan is scattered and not-quite-whole, but they're still Takane's anchor.  She's not searching for missing pieces when she goes to Sapporo, but she finds one anyway.</p><p>Takane and Kano, looking backward and facing ahead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rhythm of City Streets

**Author's Note:**

> This oneshot is set after the anime, mostly because I like alive!Ayano. It could happen in the same universe as [I'll Call You Tomorrow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4043320), though I’m not yet sure if it does. It’s unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine. The title is a reference to a line from Yobanashi Decieve.
> 
> This story does contain a female original character who is present for a fair amount of the plot. She is not paired with anyone, nor is she the main character. If you have a problem with her existence, please move on.
> 
> For reference, a “rental sister” is a young woman whose job is to get hikkikomori to come out of their rooms. They are usually affiliated with some sort of counseling program and their help is usually not cheap, thus the “rental” part of the title. As for the “sister” part—the women often act in an older-sisterly way toward the hikkikomori, gently teasing and encouraging them by turns. There is a link to more information on the Tumblr version of this fic.

The moment that Takane steps off of the train, the wind blows into her face, so fiercely cold that her cheeks sting like they’re sunburned.

“Welcome to Sapporo,” the station attendant says.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

She’s twenty-three years old and she should be perfectly capable of going across the country on business without feeling horribly alone and vulnerable every time she returns to the hotel and none of the others are waiting for her there.  Of course, _should_ is not the same as _is_ and if this were a perfect world Haruka would still be alive.

Screw _should_.  She misses her people.

They didn’t all stay.  Kano vanished a few months after Ayano came back and no amount of frantic searching could turn up a single lead on his location.  Hiyori, never one for doing things by half, applied to a prestigious high school hours away from Kaniwa and her hometown and ordered everyone not to call her once she got in.  Momo is only around when she can be—she’s transitioned from being an idol to singing in a band some Vocaloid producer put together, but her schedule’s still ridiculous at best.  And Haruka, of course, is _gone_ , because two years wasn’t long enough for medical science to get its crap together and find a cure for his heart problems.

They had about a year after the Daze.  It wasn’t enough.

But the rest of them are still in Kaniwa, scattered across town in a little collection of houses that kind of belong to everyone—it’s not uncommon for Seto and Mary to spend as much as a week living in the old red brick house, or Ayano and Shintarou to do the same thing with Seto and Mary’s house in the woods.  Even the tiny apartment Hibiya got when he finally moved out to the city occasionally ends up with extra residents—though that’s usually Momo, when she doesn’t want to stay with her brother and his wife.  Takane herself is currently renting an apartment with Kido. They’re not perfect roommates, but it works well enough.

She stares at the ceiling of the too-empty hotel room and remembers the awkwardness fondly.  Vaguely, she wonders what it’s like to not have people with whom you have co-dependently bonded due to deep trauma.   She imagines it’s kind of lonely.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Takane’s not the only one from the Kaniwa office on the trip.  Ikuhara’s along too, which is actually kind of nice.  She feels this weird sort of kinship with Ikuhara.  She’s a plump woman with laugh lines that distract a person from her eyes, and she’s always nagging people to take better care of themselves—but there’s always an edge to it.  Any encouragement to “Eat better” or “sleep more” carries a subtle undertone of both “I know you can do it,” and “so get your crap together and _prove_ it.”

On the second day, they get to talking when they’re braving the freezing wind to go to a local restaurant for their break.

“Moritaka!” Ikuhara shouts at one of the men hunched over a lighter near a “smoking area” sign.  “You’ll ruin your lungs, you know!”

Moritaka makes a dismissive noise and continues failing to light his cigarette.

“They aren’t _all_ your responsibility, you know,” Takane says, repeating words she has said to Ayano, and to herself, many times.

“I know,” Ikuhara said.  “It’s an occupational hazard, the mother-henning.”

Takane gives her a curious glance.

“I do part-time work as a rental sister,” Ikuhara says, a bit cautious.  “I had wondered…with the way you act sometimes…did you ever…”

“N—“  Takane starts automatically.  Then, she considers how her time in Shintarou’s computer could possibly be explained without—or even with—the supernatural elements, and reconsiders.  “I—kind of?”

Ikuhara gives her a confused look.

“I mean, I didn’t work for a company, or get paid, or anything, but I did the things a rental _onee-san_ would do?” Takane says.  “Or at least some of them.  I wasn’t very good at it.  In the end he only left his room because his keyboard broke during Obon and he was convinced the world would end if he didn’t get a new one.” Sarcasm twists the last sentence.

Ikuhara laughs.  “Sounds enough like my job to me.  But how’d you end up doing it if you weren’t getting paid?”  She looks pensive for a second, then asks, “Did you know the guy?”

Takane nods.  “He, uh…we were kind of friends?  Before, I mean.  Now, we’re actually friends.  But back then it was more like we just hung out with the same people.”

Ikuhara nods.  “I had people like that, in high school.  Fell out of touch with most of them, though.  So, he’s doing better now?”

Takane grins, because, _he really is_.  “Yeah,” she says.  “He’s still kind of a homebody but he’s _so_ much better now.  I mean, he actually got a degree in composition, at a not-online college.  Still couldn’t quite manage giving the valedictorian speech, though.  His wife and I had to hand-hold him through it.”

 _Fortunately, it’s really easy to slip an earpiece onto someone under one of those graduation caps, and no-one thinks it’s odd when a husband and wife hold eye contact through a speech like that one,_ she thought.  _So I just prompted him every five seconds while Ayano used_ her _powers to keep him calm_.

“He’s married?” Ikuhara said.  “Wow. I’m lucky if any of my clients get back to the point where they feel comfortable dating.  If you knew him in high school…”

Takane holds up her hands quickly, her cheeks heating up in a way that’s almost pleasant in the biting cold.  “That’s not anything I did!” she says quickly.  “That’s—he and Ayano, even before—“

“Then why wasn’t she the one doing the rental sister thing?” Ikuhara asks.

Lead fills Takane’s stomach and she answers without thinking.  “She was dead.”  Then, she remembers herself.  “Or, well, we thought she was.  Uh, normally, people don’t survive, when they jump off the roof of the school.”

Her hands fly to cover up her mouth.  Even if most of this is information Ikuhara could turn up with a few internet searches, she still shouldn’t be sharing it like this.

Ikuhara stares at her, concerned.

Takane burrows her face into her scarf, feeling as childish as Hibiya when he does it while trying to avoid Momo’s constant probing questions.  “Things got kind of complicated during high school.  Ayano’s dad started acting scary and she freaked out…it was, uh, pretty bad.”

“And that’s why your friend became a _hikkikomori_ ,” Ikuhara prompts gently.  Takane has a feeling this is how she is with clients.

“Yeah,” she said.  “He didn’t know about the thing with her dad.  Nobody did, ‘til later, because the snake was blackmailing her little brother and he was the only one besides Ayano who knew.  Anyhow, my friend thought maybe it was his fault.  That he’d…said something.”

Ikuhara nods.  She seems to have taken “snake” as an insult rather than correctly interpreting it as the literal way they refer to the thing inside Kenjirou.  Good. 

“But her dad passed away, a while ago,” _kind of_ , “and everyone’s doing better,” _well_ , _the ones who are still alive, mostly_ , “so things could be worse,” _at least according to Shintarou, who still has nightmares about the ways we all died horribly in other timelines_ , she finishes.

“What happened to the little brother?” Ikuhara asked suddenly.  “Is he okay?”

Takane shrugs, awkwardly.  “We don’t know.  He bolted a few months after Ayano, um, got better.”

“Like, ran off?”

“Yeah.  He was adopted, and from what Ayano said, he had issues before his new dad started going nuts,” Takane said, grimacing.  “I think he only stayed after he thought she was dead because he thought the other two kids needed him.  We tried to get him to go talk to, like, a therapist or someone, but that was never really going to work.  He lies too much.”

 _Except he doesn’t always lie_ , she thinks, remembering not-really-Haruka’s face sharp with focused cruelty.  _Sometimes he tells the truth in the worst possible way, so it hurts as much as it possibly could…and if he does that to other people, I bet he does it to himself, too._

Ikuhara looks troubled.

“We looked for him for months, but we couldn’t find him,” Takane says, and it’s not just Ikuhara that she needs to reassure that she tried her best.  “Kido’s supposed to be the one in the family who’s good at disappearing, but…” she adds, a weak attempt at a joke.

“Maybe he’s doing better,” Ikuhara suggests.

Takane pictures him, skinny and graceful, a distinctive rhythm to his steps and a set to his shoulders that suggested that his flimsy sweatshirt was somehow heavier than all of Kaniwa City combined.  She pictures a meaningless grin and eyes that sometimes glint yellow and sometimes red, but are always, always filled with shadows that she can only begin to see the depth of.

She shakes her head slowly.  “I just hope he’s still alive.”

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It’s not quite time for the Snow Festival yet, but Sapporo’s already preparing, so on the third night, Ikuhara drags Takane to Susukino to look at the beginnings of the snow sculptures.

Takane’s not really that impressed with the half-formed lumps of ice, but there are a bunch of noodle stands, so she finds one that serves _negima_ and eats some for Haruka.  Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long, but other times—well, she’s able to eat the noodles and remember, rather than simply sob or get nauseous at the thought of eating them alone.

Ikuhara’s choice of soba appears to have more to do with the fact that she’s planning to start a diet soon and doesn’t want to waste her last bit of freedom before she starts counting carbs.  Takane respects that.

It’s all going very well until someone attempts to grab Takane’s purse.

She whirls around and sees a tall man, with dark hair hanging over his eyes in thick bangs and an almost unreasonable number of piercings sneering down at her.  His jacket flares out around his legs like a cloak.   Behind him, two other thugs stand, bow-legged and ready for a fight, but the leader, the one who is still _touching Takane’s purse_ , is balanced on his heels, poised, waiting.

She sneers right back.  “Back off, jerk.”

“E-e-no—“

 _How scared_ is _Ikuhara, that she can’t even get through my surname?_ She wonders.

Then again, not everyone broke into their homeroom teacher’s creepy-secret-mad-science-lab and shot at a bunch of security guards at age nineteen.  It’s hard sometimes, not to hold other people to her standards.

She smirks and lets her eyes flash red.  “You have _no_ idea what you’re dealing with,” she snaps.  “Now, scram.”

Tough-guy doesn’t run for the hills like a sane man, but he does blink in surprise, and Takane takes the opportunity to wrench his grubby fingers off of her purse.

It’s her turn to react when, on the moment of contact, Tough-guy loses three inches of height, his clothes change completely, and his hair turns a familiar brownish-blonde shade.  Another second, and the façade’s back in place, but Takane’s _seen_ now.

 _Did he not recognize me?_ She wonders, half in shock.  Then again, she’s stopped wearing pigtails, and aged a bit in the last few years.  Besides, they were never really _that_ close.

A few years ago, she would’ve made a mistake here. She would’ve said what she wanted to say to him.  But now, she’s older and wiser, and she knows that won’t cut it.  Kano’s only ever _really_ listened to one person.

“Shuuya!” she barks, her tone as high and crisp and commanding as Ayano’s has ever been.  She’s spent enough time with the girl to manage a pretty good impression by this point.  “Don’t you dare run off!”

Kano freezes to the spot and she fights the urge to grin.  But…what does she do now?  He’s a master of words, always twelve moves ahead in the metaphorical chess game…and she’s not that smart to begin with, especially when confined to her always-drowsy, hatefully slow body.

“I thought you wanted me to scram,” Kano finally manages, voice frighteningly thin.  Is it an act, or real vulnerability?  Heaven help her either way.

“Changed my mind,” Takane says, before she can lose her nerve.  “According to you, I do that a lot.”

“Ene?” Kano ventures, squinting at her as if having trouble making out the details of her features.

“I go by Enomoto Takane when I’m on business trips, but yeah,” Takane replies.  “You and I need to talk.  I’ll buy you food.”

The smirk is finally back, even on the unfamiliar face—she’s still not sure if she missed it.  “Won’t your boyfriend get jealous?” he needles.

It’s like being punched in the gut.  She can’t blame him for it, either, because he didn’t know, but— 

Tough-guy-façade’s face turns white as he meets her eyes, expression filled with slowly-dawning horror.  “Oh—oh, _sh**”_ he breathes, almost gently.  “I didn’t know, really—“ he continues, sounding a little desperate. “I wouldn’t, not again—”

It’s as near to an apology as she’s ever likely to get.  She swallows the lump in her throat and nods, aware of Ikuhara’s confused, vaguely horrified eyes on her.

The façade is blank, now, which she’s fairly certain means that Kano is panicking beneath it.  She has to do something.  Why couldn’t someone _else_ have found him?  Kido would’ve known what to do!  Seto probably would’ve already hugged him by now!  If Takane hugged Kano…she’s not sure what would happen.  She thinks someone would end up hurt, but she isn’t sure who.

 _Gah_.  She can banter with anyone, but she can only verbally calm down people she knows well.  But, hey, Kano and Kido used to be close, right? And Kido never expresses affection with words anyhow.

“Food, now,” she says, forcing her tone to be steady.  “Come on.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“What are you _doing_?” Ikuhara hisses into her ear as they make their way to a nearby restaurant.  “How do you know him?”

“Remember that conversation we had yesterday?” Takane whispers back.

“Yeah,” Ikuhara asks.

“That’s the little brother,” Takane says.

Ikuhara eyes his 6-foot-tall disguise.  “You’re kidding.  How old is he?”

Takane does the math in her head.  “Twenty,” she says.

“He looks older,” Ikuhara says, forgetting to whisper.

“Ooh, gossip!” Kano says, sounding delighted.  “I’ll provide some about Ene! For example, did you know that she used to watch Yu-Gi—”

“Shut up, so did you,” Takane replies, remembering their “duel” of personal information about their friends.  She’ll _never_ admit it, but Kano had won.  Shintarou’s secret folder was one thing, but that _poem_ —that poem was the worst piece of writing she’d ever had the misfortune to read.

It’d be nice if she could say that Mary had gotten better at poetry since then.  But that would make her a bigger liar than Kano.

She spots a conveyor-belt sushi place that _doesn’t_ look like it’ll be featured on next week’s episode of whatever true crime show Mary dragged Shintarou into watching the night before the trip, and steers her bizarre entourage into it. 

They take a table near the conveyor belt.  Kano’s hand snakes toward the most expensive sushi platter in sight, and Takane pins him down with a glare.

“Why don’t you go to the bathroom and _clean up_ ,” she says, letting her eyes flash red again. 

“Promise not to gossip about me while I’m gone?” Kano asks, as he stands.

Takane just points toward the restroom sign.  She is _way_ too drowsy for his crap right now.  An entire day of being Takane, narcolepsy and excessive daytime sleepiness and all, is finally catching up to her.  Back home, she’d have taken at least a half-hour as Ene to, as Shintarou liked to joke, ‘recharge.’  She isn’t at her best right now.

Seeming offended, Kano flounces off.  For all that he looks completely different, that half-heavy, half-bouncing walk of his is exactly the same.

“So, are we going to gossip about him?” Ikuhara asks, seeming a bit curious.

“He apologized about Haruka, that’s worth me not talking behind his back,” Takane says.  “I’m just too tired to talk in circles with him.”

“Hey, if you don’t mind me asking…who is Haruka, exactly?” Ikuhara asks.  “You don’t come out drinking that much, so I never get to talk to you outside of work, and it doesn’t seem the kind of thing—“

Takane takes the initiative to head this the heck off before it gets irretrievably awkward.  “Haruka was my boyfriend,” she says flatly.  “We might’ve gotten engaged, if he’d thought he had more time left.”

Ikuhara pales a bit.  “Oh.”

“It’s been a few years,” Takane says, carefully.  “But, there’s your context.”

“I’m back!” Kano calls cheerily, waving at them.  He’s still “wearing” the same outfit, but he’s closer to his actual height and wearing his real face—or at least a mask that looks enough like it to pass.

Ikuhara startles.

“Kano’s good at disguises,” Takane says.  “He misuses it.”

“Because you’ve never used your talents for blackmail,” Kano replies cheekily.

“Shut up and pick out some cheap sushi,” Takane orders.  “I’m not buying you the most expensive thing on the menu, but you’d better eat something.”

“Because I’ve been starving on the streets?” Kano asks, voice so bright you can barely hear the anger beneath it.

“Because you have been living meal to meal on the streets and that’s not so much better,” Takane said.  “Don’t get pissed off because you think this is charity.  It isn’t.  This is a trade.  I give you food and you hear me out.  Now take some friggin’ sushi.”

Kano blinks, takes a plate of relatively cheap sushi, and says, “You’ve changed…or maybe you haven’t changed at all.  I can’t decide.”

Takane shrugs.  “Does it matter?  I’m still alive and so are you.  That’s what counts.  Congratulations on that, by the way. Sure beats lying in a morgue, unclaimed, like we thought you were.”

Kano freezes halfway through unwrapping his chopsticks.  “Wasn’t like you were looking for me,” he says, tone falsely light. 

“We’ve been looking, and you know it, or you’d be wearing your actual appearance around,” she says flatly.  “If any of us ever knew you, you’ve been keeping tabs all along.  You know we’ve got you and the few aliases Kido and Seto knew listed as missing persons, and that we scoured most of Chiba Prefecture, plus the surrounding area of every city Momo visited on tour, for _months_ after you left.”

Kano’s smile is as thin as a knife-edge and just as sharp.

“I still run your name through forums every so often, and Seto’s got half the birds in Japan looking for you by now,” Takane continues. 

“Well, that’s stupid,” Kano says, quite matter-of-factly.

“What, your brother’s nature obsession?” Takane asks, deliberately misunderstanding.  “Yeah, I agree.  Dude’s got issues.”

“Nah, I mean looking for me,” he said.  “Clearly I was fine.”

Takane’s not sure if she pities or hates him more.  She’s tired and she wants to go home but he is a terrible, terrible mess and he somehow thinks no-one notices.  It’s pathetic.

She wants the stupid cocky jerk from August 14th back.  Then again, _he_ was a mask, too.  Screw everything.  Ene the Lightning Dancer or not, she’s tired of dancing around the issue.

“We were supposed to know that _how_ , exactly?” she asks.

“I’m always fine, aren’t I?” He says it as if it’s nothing.

_Years of being blackmailed by and lying for the thing possessing his foster father, and nobody noticed that he was a bit less than fine until Shintarou and I showed up. Or, if they did, no one said anything about it. His masks are so good that no one can see when he’s in over his head.  If I were him, I’d be wondering about things, too._

“No, we’re just stupid enough to think that you are,” Takane says, and it’s as much of an apology as she can give—most of it needs to come from people who were there for the years that she wasn’t. “But we’re going to try harder to notice when you aren’t.”

“Wait, are you expecting me to come home?” he asks, incredulous.

“What did you think I wanted to talk about, the weather?” Takane snaps.  “Yes, I wanted you to at least visit and prove to your big sister that you’re alive so she can stop panicking.”

“Stop trying to guilt trip me,” Kano says, eyes narrowing.  “I know she’s not that worried about me.  She’s busy with that idiot NEET; she’s probably forgotten I exist.”

Takane leans forward, exasperated and no longer thinking straight.  “Your sister _jumped off a roof_ to keep you safe and you think she doesn’t want to see you?”

Belatedly, she remembers Ikuhara.  Her coworker is, yes, still sitting beside her, and now looking appropriately horrified.

Kano stares at her, wide-eyed, then curls into himself slightly.  “I just made her worry.  At least, like this, she can imagine I’m doing all right.”

 “Idiot!” Takane declares.  “She can also imagine you dying horribly.  Which she has done.  I have gotten 2 a.m. phone calls from her in which she babbles about the possibility that you got _murdered_ in some back alley and we might never even know, and then starts crying.”

His face turns white.  Good.   Maybe he’s finally listening.

Then, his expression hardens.  “I don’t _need_ to imagine her dying horribly.  I’ve seen it.”

He’s completely right, and that’s _awful_ and unfair, but that’s not what he should hear right now.

“Yeah, well, we’ve all seen sh**,” she says, barely registering Ikuhara’s reflexive flinch at her language.  “Me less than most of us, yeah, but do you really want to have a ‘Who’s more traumatized’ contest with _Hibiya_?”

His eyes go… _flat_ , that’s the best way to describe it.  “I saw someone die younger.  And _she_ didn’t come back.”

Takane knows this story.  Ayano had told her what she’d gathered of Kano’s biological mother on the second anniversary of his disappearance.  It is _absolutely_ no wonder that he’s so messed up.

“Ayano told me about her,” Takane says, because lying is _his_ shtick, not hers.  “I’m sorry you had to see her die.  I’m not sorry you ended up living somewhere else because of it.”

“Because the other places worked out _so_ well,” Kano says, bitter.

“You found your idiot siblings, didn’t you?” she asks.  “That has to count for something.  Don’t tell me you don’t miss ‘em, either.”

He scowls at her.  “They’re better off without me, and—”

“They are not,” Takane says.  “Look, I’m not the therapist you need, but you’re being pretty obvious for the one who’s supposed to be the best liar ever  What you’re doing right now is just as stupid as what Mas—“ she breaks off, realizing her slip, as Kano snickers, “as what Shintarou did.  What’s the difference between locking yourself in a room and running away, huh?”

“I’m getting Vitamin D,” Kano says promptly.

“You can give flip answers all day, but that’s not proving your point,” Takane said.  “When someone’s wrong, and you know it, you don’t tease them.  You tell them how wrong they are and you’re _savage_ about it.   I should know.  So, no more smart remarks, no more dodges.  If I’m wrong, _tear me apart_ , like you did back then.”

She leans back and waits.

“You going to cry again if—“

Fed up, she lunges forward and grabs one of his hands.  Bags form under his eyes, bluish-purple bruises suddenly spread out from his right eye, and a cut opens up on his cheek.   His jacket is suddenly cloth rather than leather, much thinner, and worn enough that there are holes forming in a few places.

“No more masks.  Am I right or not?”

“What just happened to his face?” Ikuhara asks, alarmed.  “Did he just spontaneously get a black eye?”

 “The black eye is a day old, at least,” Kano says absently. “The cut is newer.”

“Am I right?” Takane presses.

“Does it even matter if you are?” Kano asks, tone harsh.  “What does that change?  I still worry my sister just by existing and I can’t stop lying and I am _not_ the kind of person that the rest of you want around.”

“And what kind of person is that?” Takane asks.  “Because if you’re saying that you’re crazy and the rest of us aren’t, you are _way_ off the mark.”

“You’re the one who said I needed a therapist,” Kano says, a bit sulkily.

“Yes, and so do some of the others—but some of them have actually gone,” Takane says, glaring a bit.  Her tone is harsh and he flinches at it.

She swears to herself _, He’s so good at the masks, I keep forgetting_ , she thinks _.  He’s smart, manipulative, good with his ability and more dangerous than a drawer of knives, but half the reason he is that way is all of the crap he’s gone through.  He’s been abused, blackmailed, manipulated—and that’s just what I know for sure; who knows what’s happened since he’s been on the street.  All jokes aside, he needs a therapist, bad.  And I’m not even good enough to tell what’s a genuine reaction and what’s manipulation; I will_ never _be that good_. 

_But the rest of the Mekakushi-dan and I are the only ones he has, no matter how badly we’ve screwed up in the past._

_What I wouldn’t have given for just one non-traumatized person we could trust back then_ , she thinks.  _None of us were really any more than teenagers, and most of us were badly messed up ones at that.  We barely managed to deal with the problems that were too obvious to miss, because we were just that ill-equipped, and Kano just did what he’s been doing since he was old enough to speak…he lied, and slipped through the cracks._

“No shrink would ever believe me,” Kano says, a little softly.  “No one ever believes me when I tell the truth,” he adds, almost whispering.

“We’ll figure something out,” Takane says firmly.  _Now is not the time to tell him that we lie to the therapists.  He won’t take it well_. _And maybe…for him, maybe we can tell Dr. Ishitaka the things we haven’t been saying.  I think she’s been suspicious for a while, anyway._

“Why are you doing this?” Kano asks, sounding tired.

Takane tightens her grip on his hand.  It’s worryingly bony.  “You’re Mekakushi-dan, and that makes you family.  Now come the heck home.”

Kano ducks his head and murmurs something that could be mistaken for “okay,” and Takane takes it for assent.

She lets go of his hand, and watches the mask come back up.  The injuries remain this time, since Ikuhara’s seen them already.

She glances, cautiously, toward her co-worker.  For whatever reason, Ikuhara now seems pleased, rather than disturbed, and that’s enough for Takane, so she turns her attention back to Kano.

“Good,” she says.  “Now, eat your sushi, you’re bonier than a fossil.”

 “Is the red brick house still full of them?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow upward and grinning.

“Your sister puts Santa hats on them around Christmas,” Takane says, replying to his fake smile with a real one. 

“I’ve missed a lot,” Kano observes, and Takane has no idea whether it’s a joke or not.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

When they leave the sushi place, Ikuhara has settled into overwhelmed silence and Kano’s masks are firmly back in place.

Takane, meanwhile, is putting together to-do lists in her head.  Kano is malnourished, at least a bit injured, and probably not in a situation where he can bathe regularly, but it’s difficult to tell whether buying first aid supplies or delousing shampoo would be toeing the line of appropriateness or just jumping over it.  She’ll have to take Ikuhara aside at some point and make sure that her co-worker hasn’t put together any more than she should have.  There’s also the matter of how soon Takane can leave the conference and get him home, and whether she can do it without having conversations over the phone that she’d much rather have in person. 

Of course, she could always have the conversations as Ene…but she doesn’t know the present Kano quite well enough to leave him alone with her inert body while her consciousness is on the other side of Japan.

She doesn’t know what he’s had to do to survive these last few years, or whether he’s been working for other people and not only himself.  She does know that the time to press him for information isn’t now, but as long as she doesn’t have that information, she has no way of being sure that she can trust him.  There’s a chance that, given the opportunity, he will run off with her wallet or do worse.  Haruka and Ayano have created enough optimism in her that she thinks he might regret what he would do with an opportunity like that, as much as she’d regret giving him it.

He’s still family.  She just has to watch him.

Right now, though, he’s not doing anything suspicious. He’s just walking the nighttime streets of Sapporo.  On closer inspection, his walk isn’t exactly the same—it’s slightly less bouncing, and there’s a hint of a glide to this steps. She wonders if Sapporo’s rhythm is different, if it’s because he’s older, or if she’s seeing the evidence of some injury he hasn’t told her about yet.  Naturally, the invisible weight on his shoulders is still there.

They’ll work on that later.

**Author's Note:**

> I know that there are plot threads left dangling by this ending. But I wanted to post this for 8/15 and I would’ve needed more time to write the other endings I was considering. I may write more for this continuity eventually, or I may not; either way, I hope your enjoyed my speculation about what a post canon universe might look like.
> 
> Also, please don’t be too mad at me about Haruka; I love HaruTaka but I wanted to address the fact that Jin hasn’t yet addressed his illness, at least not in any cure/long-term-treatment way. The last word we got, as far as I know, was that he was dying. Jin will probably (?) fix that by the end of the novels, but for now, he hasn't. So I wrote it in.
> 
> Come scream about KagePro with me at ninthfeather.tumblr.com!


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